


you're gone (but you're on my mind), i'm lost (but i don't know why)

by monstermash



Series: memento mori (remember, you will die) [17]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5, Far Cry: New Dawn
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mentioned Character Death, Post Resist Ending, begins after seven years in the bunker, pre-new dawn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-10-02 15:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17267072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstermash/pseuds/monstermash
Summary: River man, river man, what do you seek? The fish are all dead, the lake will be dry in a week.Garrett Rook just wants to go home.





	1. i promised you everything would be fine

**Author's Note:**

> in celebration of New Dawn coming out in February (i think. i'll have to double check), i wrote what i think happens after FC5 ends and before New Dawn begins.
> 
> this is the last work of the series, and kinda loosely ties them all together, so vague spoilers for the other fics in this series. i still plan on finishing the other fics!

It’s been seven years.

Seven long, tiring years, but now is the moment of truth.

Garrett Rook just wants to go home.

Either everything will be fine or radiation will kill them; at this point Garrett is fine with either outcome so long as he gets to leave this bunker behind.

There’s sweat on his palms as he undoes the lock on the bunker doors and his heart is beating wildly at the thought of fresh air as he and Joseph heave the doors open, hinges creaking as it finally swings open.

It’s nothing like he thought it would be.

Garrett expected ash and forever overcast skies, long extinguished embers glowing with radiation and poisoned water.

Instead life is _thriving_ despite three nuclear bombs going off. And sure, there are still some scorched, dead trees he can see poking through the flora, but for the most part everything looks…

Everything looks _alive._

It’s so beautifully overwhelming that Garrett barely stops himself from crying; the last time he cried was six years ago and he’s not going to cry in front of Joseph Seed ever again.

Closing his eyes, he breathes deeply. It’s fresh and clean instead of the recycled air of the bunker that he could practically _feel_ dragging unpleasantly through his lungs. He really won’t miss the bunker one bit.

He wants to go home, now more than ever; he’s done his time. Seven years of it, in fact. Seven years of being trapped with Joseph Seed, the man who stole his family and friends and _seven god damn years_ of his life.

A flash of rage sparks behind his eyes, makes his hands twitch, but he smothers the impulse; he can leave now, won’t ever have to see Joseph Seed again after today.

“A garden of Eden,” Joseph breathes out next to him, and when Garrett glances at him, the other man’s expression borders on being smug. An _‘I told you so’_ that Joseph will never say aloud because he likes to believe he’s above being petty, above being _human,_ but Garrett knows better, no matter how much Joseph likes to lie to himself. “It’s perfect. Innocent.”

Garrett’s eyes slide from Joseph’s face and back towards the tree line, towards the long since overgrown trail that leads to the ranger station.

It still surprises him how naïve – or maybe it’s willfully ignorant – Joseph still is, even after all these years. Although, maybe the man has to be that way or else the gravity of the things he’s done will crush him. Garrett knows from experience; the first year in the bunker, he’d been a wreck. The reality, the realization, of all the things Garrett had done and made him into a damn mess of tears and guilt. When reality finally hits Joseph, Garrett suspects it will be like watching a train crash into the side of a mountain at inadvisable speeds.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Garrett reminds him, a warning, because even though nature has reclaimed the land – or at least Dutch’s island – nature has never been innocent, and it never will be; it isn’t inherently evil, either. It just… exists.

It just _is._

With a grimace, Garrett ducks back down into the bunker to grab the bag he’s had packed and hidden for a week, ever since Joseph declared it time to finally open the bunker.

As he climbs back up the stairs, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, pistol holstered to his hip and a knife strapped to his thigh, he finds himself wondering what Joseph did with Dutch. It’s been a thought he’s had over the years, but never asked about.

“If you’re not gonna stay here, make sure you at least close the doors when you leave,” Garrett says instead of asking about Dutch as he steps past Joseph and sets foot on solid earth for the first time in nearly a decade, the sun warming his cold skin.

He goes two steps from the bunker before Joseph speaks up.

“You’re leaving?”

Garrett glances back at him, sees the slightly lost look on the other man’s face, and feels a tiny stab of guilt tinged with anger, but he keeps his face neutral.

“I’m going home, Joseph.” _If there’s even a home to go back to._ Garrett starts walking again. “Don’t follow me.”

For once, Joseph listens to him.

\---

The car, rusted and warped, is still where it crashed, Pratt and Hudson and Whitehorse – what remains of them – are still strapped into their seats.

Mostly bones, cracked and splintered and picked clean by wildlife, with clothes that have partially rotted away.

The only things that are still intact are their badges, and surprisingly, Whitehorse’s Stetson.

He should’ve died with them; he _would_ have died with them, if it hadn’t been for Joseph, as much as Garrett hates to admit it, hates to admit he owes that man his life. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but he figures that they're even now, since Garrett hasn’t killed Joseph, and there were many, _many_ times over the years where he wanted to or had the opportunity to do so and chose not to.

Something crunches beneath his boot and when he looks, it’s Whitehorse's sunglasses; they must've fallen out after the crash.

Unpleasant thoughts swirl in his mind and Garrett has to shove them away.

With careful hands that only slightly shake, Garrett plops the Stetson on top of his head before moving past the wreckage. He leaves their badges with them. One day soon, he’ll come back and give them a proper burial, but right now he wants to get as far away from here as possible.

He stumbles his way off of the island, his eyes stinging the whole way.

Garrett can’t stop looking at the sky; he’s missed it far too much to _not_ watch it.

He hums _‘Bennie and the Jets’_ as he crosses the still intact bridge into Holland Valley.

\---

Garrett camps out in the remains of Rae Rae’s house on his first night free of the bunker. 

The house’s skeleton is wrapped in twisting vines and roots, a few trees having grown in and around it. He remembers watching John’s announcement on the now smashed TV and it makes him feel old even though he’s not all that old at all. Garrett’s 37 now, which feels like a lifetime away from 30, even though it isn’t, not really.

It takes him a few moments, but he figures Mary May would be about 33 now, if she’s still alive.

 _God_ he hopes she’s still alive, even though a small part of him fears that no one survived, that he and Joseph are the last two people in the world, like that one Twilight Zone episode, except instead of Garrett being stranded without sight, he’s stranded with an unhinged man who is somewhere in Hope County, whereabouts unknown.

He hasn’t seen another person since he parted ways with Joseph Seed hours ago.

Garrett had never been one for conversation, but he misses it now. Misses people, misses his friends, misses Mary May.

Laying back on the ground, on the cold dirt, he looks up at the stars between the branches and wooden supports; of all the things that have changed, it’s a comfort to know that the sky has remained the same, that the stars are still where he remembers.

“All the stars go waltzing out, one by one,” Garrett recites softly to no one but himself. He wonders if Falls End is still standing, if there will even be anything there waiting for him at all; he wonders if his house is still standing, if the trees still grow around it or if it’s all just rotted away, its own House of Usher. “Until the sea recedes beyond the horizon, wanderlust to fulfill; A pilgrimage long overdue. No matter what you do or where you go, keep this phrase in mind: memento mori; remember, you will die.”

Scrubbing at the telltale sting of tears in his eyes, Garrett rolls onto his side and falls asleep.

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t _know._


	2. the april fool, upright and reversed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still haven't played new dawn yet, i'm trying to finish fc5 on infamous mode first. i did find out some minor spoilers that made my heart hurt (Mary May spoilers if y'all couldn't tell. it'll come up later in the story, so uh,,,, be ready for that.) 
> 
> also the whole thing where the Deputy is the Judge didn't really sit well with me, so we're just gonna ignore that here.
> 
> i'm taking a break from this writing account for a bit so i can work on my secondary one, but i'll try to at least keep updating this fic every now and then. sorry for the short chapter this time.

Garrett’s always had strange dreams and the strange sensation of being watched.

 _“An April Fool is always strange,”_ he remembers Billy and Mary May’s granny – William’s mom – telling him during one of the few times she visited before she passed away. _“And an April Fool in Hope County is stranger still. Something about the land…”_

He remembers sitting there and listening to her, completely enraptured by her words and her milky blue blind eye.

 _“I’m an April Fool too,”_ she had whispered conspiratorially with a wink. _“An April Fool always leads an interesting life; fate wouldn’t have it any other way. It’ll be watching you always.”_

The dreams stopped down in the bunker, but the feeling of being watched never left him, not really.

Fate with its blind eye.

\---

It’s still dark out when Garrett wakes from a dreamless sleep, long before the sun has even begun to rise; he doesn’t remember his last sunrise, before the bombs dropped and he was trapped underground, but Garrett’s not going to miss this one.

He won’t miss it for anything in the world.

Which is why he’s hiked up the mountain that separates Holland Valley from the northern part of Hope County; sure, this’ll set him back on making it home, but only by a couple of hours.

It’s dark out but he can still hear the world go on around him, quiet as it is; birds starting to sing, some of those mutated deer moving through the trees around him. The world is alive like Joseph always believed, but Hope County has always been alive, in more ways than one, and that’s something the Seeds never truly understood.

“You can’t choose what stays and what fades,” Garrett murmurs, suddenly feeling far, far older than he is, like the weight of a thousand lifetimes has settled heavily on his shoulders.

With a soft, tired sigh, Garrett closes his eyes and lets the moment sink in.

\---

Dreams have always been like looking into a mirror, at least for Garrett.

Watching his life through reflections upon reflections, always the same yet somehow varying drastically; the smallest of changes building up and up until Garrett almost doesn’t even recognize himself anymore.

These other lives of his rarely ever end happy, similar tragedies plaguing him always and forever.

He wonders if he’s always doomed from the start.

\---

Green eyes flash open, and watch as the sun climbs over the hills, shining bright and beautiful, the sky turning from gray to lilac to faint pink.

Garrett cries for the first time in six years.

\---

The roads are cracked and faded, huge pieces of asphalt missing, worn down and away from time and lack of maintenance. 

Garrett passes by a handful of cars, either picked clean or left completely alone – he keeps his distance from the ones that don’t have plants growing on them.

As he passes by those ones, he swears he can hear crackling static from the radios.

But that can’t possibly be right. He’s just hearing things, been underground too long.

\---

Falls End is half buried and the only building that even looks remotely fine is the Spread Eagle.

And fuck, he knows – believe him, he _knows_ – better than to get his hopes up, but it’s been nearly a decade and the bar is still standing, and there’s so much _hope_ building up in his chest as he pushes the door open and—

Nothing.

No one.

Just dust and dirt and broken glass.

“Mary May?”

No answer.

Garrett steps further and further into the bar, the floorboards creaking beneath him, more than they used to. The same yet different. The jukebox is still here but it’s smashed in, the bottles of alcohol behind the bar remain but look grimy, and the piano…

Broken and splintered. 

It remains silent when he presses down on a key.

His eyes burn because he never thought… he never thought there’d ever be a day where the Spread Eagle would remind him of a grave.

Garrett turns away, heads for the door.

It’s clear that no one’s been here in a long time.

(He pretends not to hear the radio behind the bar crackling as he goes.)

\---

This is not what he was expecting.

This is not what Garrett was expecting at all.

Garrett stands in front of his still somehow completely intact house. Sure, it looks weathered, but it’s not the barely there shell he _had_ been expecting. Even the barn is still standing.

It’s like nothing happened.

Well, almost like nothing happened. There are plants everywhere, vines covering the east wall of the house.

And then Garrett goes inside.

Everything is as he left it, with an oddly thin layer of dust, but nothing is missing, no one here but him.

He’s home.

(But is he really?)

The stairs creak and so does his bedroom door when he tentatively pushes it open.

It’s the same here too.

Carefully setting his bag down, Garrett steps into his room; he’ll have to wash the sheets at least, but other than that it should be fine to sleep here and—

Garrett stops.

And he stares in confusion at the old AM-FM radio that stands upright on the middle of his bed. He knows he didn’t leave that there, knows it should be on the bedside table where he’s always kept it.

But there it is.

Garrett nearly jumps out of his skin when it lets out a loud burst of static.

_What the fuck?_

Without even thinking about it, he snatches it up – it’s been busted for years, it shouldn’t even be able to turn _on,_ much less make noise – and starts trying to tune it. None of the stations work, but then he sets it to 97.9 and waits with baited breath.

And then he hears it.

It’s soft at first, barely even there, but it sounds like—

_ǝɯo—_

“What?” Garrett mutters under his breath, turning the radio this way and that, looking for _something._

_ǝɯoᴚ ɯoɹɟ ǝ—_

But there’s nothing to find.

_ǝɯoᴚ ɯoɹɟ ǝɯoɔ ןן—_

He pops open the back of it and yup, there aren’t even any batteries in it. Garrett has officially gone nuts. He’s spent too long underground and around Joseph Seed so now Garrett’s hearing weird shit from a radio that hasn’t worked in years.

_ǝɯoᴚ ɯoɹɟ ǝɯoɔ ןןıʍ—_

“Cool, thanks I get it. Weird creepy stuff happening in my weird creepy house,” Garrett grumbles before scowling at himself. He’s talking to a _radio_ that he’s having auditory hallucinations about. He should probably stop.

He tosses it back onto his bed and recoils from it when it lets out a loud metallic screech.

And then… And then, a voice he hasn’t heard since he was maybe twelve years old, starts talking through the radio. But it can’t possibly be the radio DJ; the guy was already kinda old when Garrett was a kid, there’s no way he could still be alive now.

“˙ǝıp ןןıʍ noʎ ˙ɹǝBǝɯǝᴚ ˙ıɹoɯ oʇuǝɯǝW ˙puıɯ uı ǝsɐɹɥԀ ˙sıɥʇ dǝǝʞ ˙oƃ ˙noʎ ǝɹǝɥM ˙ɹO ˙op noʎ ʇɐɥM ˙ɹǝʇʇɐɯ oN ˙ǝnpɹǝʌo ƃuo˥ ˙ǝƃɐɯıɹƃןıd ∀ ˙ןןıɟןnɟ oʇ ʇsnןɹǝpuɐM ˙uozıɹoɥ ǝɥʇ puoʎǝq ˙sǝpǝɔǝɹ ɐǝs ǝɥʇ ןıʇu∩ ˙ǝuo ʎq ˙ǝuo ʇno ƃuızʇןɐʍ oƃ ˙sɹɐʇs ǝɥ⊥”

His heart stops, because _this…_ This he recognizes. He’s recited it to himself so many times over the years that he knows it by heart, even if it sounds upside down and backwards and warped.

“What the _fuck.”_


	3. take me down to the river

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay on this, I've been mostly working on my other writing account and replaying Borderlands 2.
> 
> Also!!! it's April 1 as i'm writing this (probably not when i post this tho), so happy birthday to the boi, Deputy Garrett Rook.

If Garrett wasn’t already weirded out by his creepy house, then the fact that it still has running, _clean_ water and electricity definitely weirds him out, if not at least confusing the hell out of him.

Because the backup generator has long since died, and Garrett’s no plumber, but he’d bet anything that the pipes shouldn’t have survived this long without being replaced, or at the very least should be punctured through by the roots of the trees that have sprung up near his house in his absence.

But lo and behold, when he flips on a light switch or twists on the faucet, everything works as if no time has passed at all.

Like the world didn’t end seven years ago.

Like his house is a Twilight Zone episode that he just happened to stumble upon.

Garrett supposes someone could’ve been taking care of the place while he was gone – the most likely candidate being Mary May even though he still hasn’t found her yet – but with all the dust the place has collected it doesn’t seem like it.

The radio crackles from where he’s placed it on the kitchen table as he clears out the food that has long since rotted and turned into sludge from the fridge. He honestly couldn’t say _why_ he’s kept the damn thing around, but he has.

Okay, sure, it spouts some real creepy shit that doesn’t sound right, and he _really_ shouldn’t be encouraging these auditory hallucinations, but he’s kind of desperate to hear the sound of someone who _isn’t_ a deranged cult leader speak and he hasn’t exactly gone looking for any other survivors of the nuclear holocaust yet. Falls End was kind of his best bet to find _anyone_ who didn’t die in the initial blast and the resulting years of radiation, and finding the town half buried and completely abandoned had kinda shot any hope he’d had.

That and he can’t really figure out where else survivors might have gathered in Hope County; maybe at Drubman Marina, but if it hasn’t sunk into the lake by now Garrett will eat Bliss flowers. God does he hope that Bliss flowers were something that didn’t survive; he doesn’t want to have to go around burning Bliss fields again because that was tedious and difficult, having to track down every single one because not all of the locations were recorded in the cult’s files at Jessop Conservatory.

His nose scrunches in disgust as he scoops out what might’ve once been a gallon of milk and dumps it into the trash can.

Maybe he should check the conservatory? Sure, it’s no farm, but it’s a good location and it has green houses, which he imagines would be pretty useful trying to start growing crops again.

It’s where Garrett would go, anyway.

Hauling out what used to be ground beef, Garrett gags at the stench; it reminds him of the not-so-mystery Mystery Meat™ Jacob had once made Garrett and other imprisoned resistance members eat in the cages.

“˙ʇı ʇɟǝן ɹǝʌǝu ǝH ˙ʇɹǝsǝp ǝɥʇ sʎɐʍןɐ sɐʍ ʍous ǝɥ⊥”

“Wow, could you maybe not be so creepy and vague,” Garrett snarks and then remembers that it’s _a fucking radio_ and he probably shouldn’t be talking to it as if it were a person.

It doesn’t help that the damn thing _laughs_ at him – various, oddly cut together audio of different laugh-tracks – when he nearly smacks his forehead with his gloved, but still covered in rotten food, hand.

“I oughta toss you in the river,” Garrett grumbles at it.

The sound from the radio immediately cuts out, and for a moment, Garrett thinks he’s offended it – _offended a god damn radio, he really is losing it_ – until it says, “˙ǝɹoɥs ɹǝɥʇo ǝɥ⊥ ˙ɯoɹɟ sǝʌɐʍ ǝɥS ˙ɹǝʌıɹ ǝɥ⊥”

Garrett cocks an eyebrow at it as he scrapes out the last of the rotted food.

“What about it?”

There’s a low mumbling from the radio, and it’s so quiet that Garrett has to lean in close to it, and falling flat on his ass when the volume suddenly kicks up, nearly screeching in his ear.

_**“ ˙ɹǝʌıɹ ǝɥ⊥ ˙ɹǝʌıɹ ǝɥ⊥ ˙ɹǝʌıɹ ǝɥ⊥ ˙ɹǝʌıɹ ǝɥ⊥ ˙ɹǝʌıɹ ǝɥ⊥ ˙ɹǝʌıɹ ǝɥ⊥”** _

“Jesus skateboarding Christ!” Garrett hisses at it, tugging off the gloves and tossing them into the garbage. “Fine! I’ll go to the river!”

It cackles at him again.

\---

“˙uɐW ˙ɹǝʌıᴚ ˙uɐW ˙ɹǝʌıᴚ”

He’s caught three Bull Trouts when he faintly hears something that most definitely _isn’t_ the radio.

“River man, river man, what do you seek? The fish are all dead, the lake will be dry in a week.”

An old song that’s been around as long as Hope County itself, one that Garrett hasn’t really heard since he was a child. And he finds himself responding to it without even really thinking about it.

“Wanderer, wanderer, what will you pay? A handful of salt, a grave in spades, but beware the night’s song.”

There’s a still pause in the air and realization finally sinks in that _there’s someone else here._

Garrett’s head whips around to look out at the tree line, ignoring the tug on the fishing line. Twigs break and—

And a ball of mostly grey fur barrels into his legs, nearly knocking him into the river, bringing him down on one knee. There’s the sound of happy barking and it’s _Boomer._

“Hey, Boomer,” Garrett says, watery smile on his face as Boomer gets slobber all over his cheek. “It’s good to see you, boy.”

The dog is older and greyer than he remembers, but that’s to be expected when seven years have passed. Running his fingers through the dog’s fur when he remembers that he’d heard someone out there, a childish voice, so he looks up—

And there’s a child watching him and Boomer, brown hair pulled back in a braid and familiar blue eyes.

Garrett’s at a loss for words, because this child is the first person he’s seen other than Joseph. What the hell does he say?

“Are you the river man?” she asks with something akin to awe, and Garrett has to stifle a laugh.

“Not really, no,” he answers with a grin.

Boomer jumps up, planting his front paws on Garrett’s shoulders and the kid lets out a whistle. “Boomer, down! I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into him. Most of the time he’s too old to do this.”

“Don’t worry, he and I go _way_ back.”

She doesn’t look convinced, tilting her head and frowning at him. The radio cackles, drawing the attention of the kid.

“˙ƃuoɹʍ ˙spɹoʍ ǝɥʇ ˙ƃuıS”

\---

Carmina heads back the way she came, the gift the river man gave her clutched tightly in her hand.

(He’d given it to her when she told him her name.)

“Carmina! There you are,” her dad says, his shoulders sagging in relief. “What’ve we told you about wandering off like that?”

“Boomer ran off, so I went after him.”

Her dad raises a brow at her. “And where’s Boomer?”

“Dunno. Somewhere with the river man,” she shrugs and remembers the gift, grinning. 

Her dad sighs. “Carmina, the river man isn’t real.”

“He is too!” Carmina frowns at him. “Look what he gave me!”

Holding her hand out to him, Carmina’s fingers uncurl, revealing the metal badge that has _‘Hope County Sheriff’s Deputy’_ engraved on it. Her dad picks it up and she sees the exact moment when his expression changes.

Strained and sad.

“Sweetheart, where’d you get this?”

Carmina huffs. “I told you, the river man gave it to me, and Boomer stayed with him and his weird radio.”

Her dad kneels down in front of her, his hands resting firmly on her shoulders. “Carmina, this is really important; what did the river man look like?”

She narrows her eyes at him, because just a minute ago he said the river man wasn’t real, but then she showed him her gift and now he’s being weird.

“He’s got black hair and green eyes. Old, like you. He said he and Boomer went way back, before the bombs.” Carmina looks back in the direction of the river. “Boomer found him fishing and then he gave me that. Said he didn’t need it anymore.”

And then her dad is getting up and heading towards the river, so Carmina follows him through the dense trees, the light that filters through the trees flashing brightly as they pass through them setting an odd feeling to the woods around them.

“Garrett!” he calls out, hands cupping around his mouth, but there’s no answer. _“Garrett!”_

But the river man is gone, the shore empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would've made this chapter a little longer, but this felt like a good place to end it.


End file.
